Never Annoy the Warden
by storm-stellar
Summary: So the Warden controls the backpack. Therefore s/he controls the clothing situations of everyone. What could possibly go wrong? Lousy title, yes I know. Oneshot. Rated T for implied sexy times.


Wrote this as a request for crack in the DA world. The prompt, though paraphrased goes something like; "So in DA:O the Warden is able to choose what armour goes onto who. So with that, the Warden can also choose to get the characters to run about Denerim naked if s/he wanted. Punishment + this weird ability = write me a fic".

It's crack. And this is also my first crack fic, yay. I'm not good at writing crack so if anyone would like to give tips/criticize (by all means, please do though :D) just drop a review.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>This was not good.<p>

Making sure to keep his lower body submerged in the water, he turned around to look for the usually-there armour. It wasn't. Not even a cloth to dry himself off. The only clothes that were there were some smallclothes, and attempting to run across camp in said smallclothes to find his armour was going to be embarrassing to say the least.

Wading to the bank on the other side of the lake, he searched for anything that could potentially cover him up as he ran back to get his armour, he sighed. Nothing. Not even a large enough leaf. He flicked the top of the water with his fingers in irritation. She might not be able to hear him, but it was worth a shot.

"Lyna!" Alistair yelled. He knew she held onto the armour for everyone, and she always left armour for him by the lake, along with a cloth to dry himself off. She was the one who assigned who wore what, and she'd never forgotten to return anyone's armour before.

But she must have remembered; the smallclothes were here...oh for the love of- they weren't even _his_ smallclothes. Alistair looked around him in further desperation, and continued to shout for her. Once the fifth shout didn't have a response, he started to think. Properly. People always told him that he could be intelligent if he tried.

Bodhan and Sandal weren't around and thus he couldn't loan some clothes off them. Sten was out with Leliana and Shale to get food. _Mmm food. Hopefully there isn't any smashed pigeon this time._ Oghren was probably unconscious by the fire, drunk, and hopefully not choking on his own vomit. Wynne was out with Zevran and Fen'harel, using them to hold the firewood just a few hundred metres away from the campsite.

That left Morrigan and Lyna.

Alistair couldn't help but slap his forehead in frustration. There was no other choice but to run across to her tent from the water, stark naked. Wearing the smallclothes was not an option. "For the love of Andraste, they're _pink. _And frilly," he muttered under his breath, throwing them down after further inspection. Continued shouting for Lyna garnered no success. Alistair could just picture her sitting near the fire, using the whetstone to sharpen her daggers and basically, enjoying this little punishment she seemed to have set out for him. That left just Morri-

Nope. Not an option. Asking her for help was like asking her to be kind. Can't be done, never will be. _Complete and utter __bitch__._

Pulling himself out of the water, he sighed. This was going to be hard. As he stood up, feeling himself grow cold being stark naked, he couldn't help but be horribly reminded of a previous conversation with Morrigan...

"And if you had not been recruited? What would have happened, instead?"

"I would have turned into a drooling lunatic," he remembered rolling his eyes as he said this, "slaughtered the grand cleric and run through the streets of Denerim in my smallclothes, I guess." Oh, if she could see him now.

No wait. Scratch that. No. She'd better be in her little corner in the camp, not looking up as he ran across. No.

There was no time like the present. Taking the honestly revolting smallclothes and attempting to cover what he can, he took a deep breath. Repeating this a few times, he closed his eyes.

And charged.

* * *

><p>She couldn't stop herself from smiling, and attempting to cover up the fact that she was laughing at his antics wasn't working either.<p>

Rescuing Alistair from the canvas of Leliana's tent when he tripped over Oghren (who was, as she suspected, passed out near the fire) was just too amusing. She stood there as he flailed about with the canvas tangled in his legs and arms, her hands holding his washcloth with a smirk on her face. As she peeled the sheet off him, she couldn't help but burst out laughing as he looked at her in wonderment, his face bright red for seeing him in his...state. Tossing him the washcloth, he quickly grabbed it and wrapped it around his waist, his eyes evidently asking her why she had decided on that 'punishment'.

Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, her eyes looked at her tent, just nearby with a warm bedroll. His gaze followed hers, and, if possible, blushed even harder. Helping him up, she pulled him towards her tent. As they settled inside, she blew out the candle, letting his arms take her to bed with ignited passion.

Leliana's tent of course, lay forgotten.


End file.
